Just like that
by carebearfrost
Summary: "He was stronger than this. But as he looked at the gun sitting on the table, he knew it was just another lie." As Reid struggles with issues from his past, it appears to him that there's only one option to escape. One-shot; Complete. Reviews appreciated!


**Hello! So, I was sitting on the beach (I'm on vacation right now) and suddenly the plot bunnies attacked me. I whipped out my phone and, no joke, wrote this whole thing within 30 minutes on the notes section on my phone. So I'm not quite sure what the response is going to be to this...I feel like the ending really sucks. But whatevs.**

**Please enjoy!**

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><p>Which came first: the addict or the drug?<p>

You can't have an addiction unless there's something to crave; by the same token; a drug is nothing but a plant or a drink or a powder until someone wants it badly. The truth is, the addict and the drug came together. And therein lies the problem.

When you want something desperately, you shake with the need for it. You tell yourself you don't need more than one sip, because its just the taste you crave, and once it's on your tongue you will be able to make it last a life time. You dream of it at night. You see a thousand mile-high obstacles between where you stand and what you want, and you convince yourself you have the power to hurdle them. You tell yourself this even when, leaping the first block, you wind up bruised and bloodied and flattened.

Reid was past the point of being bruised or flattened. No, if the hurdle analogy was real, then he would probably be lying dead on the middle of the track, his body trampled on the ground, blood and skin mixing with the dust and dirt.

To put it bluntly, it wasn't a pretty image.

Reid leaned back in his seat, trying to stop his fingers from fidgeting. His left hand was darting around like a ten year old boy who had just drunk an energy drink. His right hand was clasped around a glass that was half full with scotch, a strong drink for the occasion. And his eyes...well, they were everywhere. Darting nervously back and forth, trying to avoid looking at the coffee table, where his fate awaited him in the form of a gun and a single bullet.

One year. Nine months. 27 days. That's how long it's been since he last had . . . It.

It. God, he was pathetic, Reid thought as he took another swig of scotch. He couldn't even say the real name, for fear that his brain would go into a frenzy. Like a bloodhound looking for a kill. It would stop at nothing.

It had good cause though. That Reid had to agree with. The drug, though it had a significant amount of negative aspects, the positive one was the one thing Reid longed for more than anything in the world.

His mother.

Every time he gave into the blackness whenever he objected himself, he would receive a new flashback. Most of the time they were of the worser times. When his mother screamed "I hate you" to Reid for the first time. When she was having one of her episodes. When she wouldn't even recognize Spencer. A flash of pain ignited in his chest just thinking about it. Reid squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. He was stronger than that.

But as he opened his eyes and saw the scotch in one hand, and the gun on the table, he knew that was just another lie.

But back to the flashbacks. Whenever Reid witnessed a good one, oh they were MARVELOUS. and afterwards, when he curl on the bathroom floor in a sweaty, shaky ball, he knew that those flashbacks, those memories, were the reason that he couldn't quit.

The good ones were fairly simple. His mother tucking him into bed at night when he was little, his mother cooking banana and chocolate pancakes, her favorite meal before she got so sick she couldn't cook. And lastly, Reid's personal favorite, his mother reading to him.

A smile crossed his face just as he thought about it. Reid knew that his mother didn't love him like she loved her books. Now, that doesn't mean that she loved books more than she loved Reid, because that was false. She just had a different kind of love, or passion, for books that Reid never received. It wasn't a bad thing, per say. For example, a girl could love her dog and also love her boyfriend, but she wouldn't get butterflies in her stomach whenever her dog looked at her, because the love she shared for her dog was different than the love for her boyfriend.

But man, how his mother loved to read. Sometimes Reid would just sit and watch her read. Watch as she buries herself deep within a book, the passion and emotion that the author was going for portraying on her face.

It was the only time he had ever seen her so calm and serene, which lwas exactly why those memories were so cherished and special. He didn't ever want to give them up. Ever.

That was when common sense (and his team) stepped in. This addiction, this problem, this...this MONSTER, was consuming him. It was almost if there was a black flame within him, just a small candle at first, but the more he injected himself the worse it  
>got. The candle grew, seeping all over his body, turning his blood cold and his heart and brain numb until the next injection. It was a wild fire, a raging, ever-burning wrath that dragged him to hell's door, tore down his confidence, made him feel that without the drug he is, was, and will always be NOTHING.<p>

Thats why he quit. The cycle was too abusive, too ever-lasting. Reid thought that once he got past the withdrawal symptoms, it would be over. He would never crave it again. He would be done.

If that was the case, he wouldn't be sitting here about to do what he believes is the only option.

Reid's sure that there's nothing else he can do. For the past two months he's awoken in the middle of the night, screaming, for the drug. It's all he can think about. At work when he's supposed to be tracking down a serial killer, his thoughts are on how fast he can find a dealer.

He's tried to resist it. Really, he has. But it's too hard. The urges are too strong. But Reid would be a fool if he ever went back to being an addict. To even using it. He knew that if he did, he would be letting his entire team down. He couldn't disappoint them like that.

Which was why the only logical decision Reid can make is to end his life. He can't live without the drug, but he refuses to fall back into his old habit, no matter how enticing it seems.

The normal, functional Reid would've realized how irrational this idea was. But that Reid was long, long, gone.

Reid swallowed his last sip of scotch and leaned forward to set the glass on the table. He stared at the gun, and with a determined sigh he picked it up.

Inhaling a deep, ragged breath, Reid placed the gun against his temple. He breathed long and even breaths, trying to steady his shaky hands.

All right. This is it, Reid thought to himself. You can escape this. Your crushing depression, the awful addiction that will never go away, all the ridicule you've faced since you were g  
>young. Its all led up to this.<p>

Reid's hands trembled against the gun, and a tear slowly trickled down his cheek. He is ready.

Three.

Reid closed his eyes and thought of his team. Hotch, JJ, Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and Garcia.

Two.

Next Reid thought of Giddeon. His mentor. The person he looked up to more than anyone else.

One.

Lastly, Reid thought of his mother. How she deserves to not be restrained by her illness, and hopefully his death wouldn't cause her too much grief.

Zero.

Reid took a sharp breath, and began to pull the trigger back, tears now streaming down his face. This is it. This is it. This is-

Suddenly, Beethovens 5th symphony rang throughout the room. Reid gasped in shock, the gun falling to his side as he snatched his phone off the table and saw Morgan of all people calling.

"Why would he call? Its a Friday night!" Reid muttered under his breath, wiping his years but answering none the less.

"hello?" Reid panted into the phone.

"Wassup, pretty boy?" Morgans sharp reply came shooting over the phone.

"U-Um, nothing. I'm rather curious as to why you called actually."

"Alright, alright. I'll cut to the chase. You need to come over to Prentiss's apartment, because the whole team is over here, with, oh god I can't believe I'm saying this, box sets of star trek. We noticed you've been down lately. We want to cheer you up." Morgan said.

Reid nearly dropped the phone he was so surprised. "R-...Really?" Reid's lower lip began to quiver.

"No I lied. Seriously Reid, come on over. Were waiting!"

"U-Uh," Reid glanced at the empty cup of scotch and the gun on the table, and bitter regret shot through him. "Sure. I'll be right over."

"Atta boy, see you soon!" Morgan hung up, leaving Reid with just a dial tone.

Reid sat frozen in place for a few moments. He stared at the gun on the table and sighed. Morgans call couldn't have come at a better time.

Reid stood up, stumbling slightly as he shrugged on his coat.

Not tonight. But one day it will happen. That Reid knew was for certain.

For now though, it would just be small steps. Reid needed to simply enjoy being with his team, and being alive.

And when the time comes, he'll be gone.

Just like that.

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><p><strong>Yeah, I told y'all the ending really really sucked. Reviews are very much appreciated! Nothing helps me more than reviews do, and I really want to see your response. So please oh please review this. It'll take five seconds, max. Please? (:<strong>

**Oh, and I'm very much aware that me posting this is pretty much me signing my own death certificate for not updating my Reid two-shot. Hear me out: The last month of school was _so incredibly hectic_ (not to mention some awful personal drama came up) and then the whole month of June I've been traveling. I have the 2nd chapter practically finished on my computer at home, and as soon as I get home next week I will post it. So please accept my apologies :/**

**Alrighty! I guess that's it! Besides a reminder to review (of course hahaha) and if you want, go check out my other story about Reid which I will be updating next week. :) thanks!**

**Review review review review review :}**

**Peace, Love, Reid!**

**-Emily :)**


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